


Up Against the Wall

by QuidditchMom (eibbil_one)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-16
Updated: 2010-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eibbil_one/pseuds/QuidditchMom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Absence makes Harry a bit desperate for Hermione.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Against the Wall

Harry Apparated into the entryway of the flat and waited. Usually Hermione knew he was home seconds before he got there, but nothing greeted him tonight except silence. He wandered toward the kitchen, longing for a quick bite and then sleep. His business trip, while successful, had left him drained and ready for a quiet weekend alone with his wife.

Apparently, though, his wife had other plans. He saw the parchment on the kitchen table and groaned. He knew what was it was -- he'd just hoped that he'd arrived late enough to miss the party. No such luck. A quick scan told him that Hermione was still at Ron and Mariah's...and that he was supposed to join her there.

If it had been anyone's birthday but Ron's, he'd have gone straight to bed and not given it another thought. But it _was_ Ron. So, heaving a great sigh, he went to the bedroom, changed into more casual clothing and Apparated to Ron's house.

The moment his conscious mind caught up with his body, Harry had to fight the urge to clap his hands over his ears. The noise level was deafening. It looked as though a hundred witches and wizards were crowded into the small London townhouse. Knowing Ron, that was probably an accurate number.

He scanned the room until he found Hermione. She was locked in conversation with Mariah and Ginny, giggling over something. He waved and she waved back, indicating the throng of people separating them. Harry shrugged his shoulders. Hermione winked and blew him a kiss.

Harry smiled outwardly, but inside he was snarling. After a week away from her, all he wanted was some privacy to kiss his wife hello. Instead, he was standing an almost impassable distance from her without the energy to elbow his way through a crowd of people.

Hermione seemed to sense his dilemma and blew him another kiss, this time licking her lips slightly before pursing them. Harry almost stumbled as all his blood rushed from his brain southward.

His wife seemed to notice that as well, and a wicked grin crossed her face. She picked up something off her plate of hors d'oeuvres, captured his eyes with hers, and then proceeded to eat the carrot stick with deliberate slowness, taking care to clean it of dip before pushing the stick into her mouth with a finger.

They'd played this game at parties before, and Harry usually found it an amusing way to wile away the inane conversations until it was time to leave. This time, though, it affected him a little differently. Maybe it was because he was tired or because they hadn't seen each other in a week, but Harry's blood was now pumping madly through his veins and he knew one thing with absolute clarity. If he didn't have her now, right now, he would implode.

Overcome with the energy of a man with a raging hard on, Harry parted the crowd separating him and Hermione like Moses at the Red Sea. When she was at last within reach, he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the kitchen stairwell.

"Harry," Hermione panted as she tried to match his long-legged stride, "what's come over you?"

Harry didn't answer. He couldn't. His blood had reached a fever pitch and every nerve ending was screaming for her. Before she could utter even a single syllable, Harry pushed her into an empty room, backed her up against a wall and crushed his mouth to hers.

Instead of cooling his desire, feeling her lips beneath his only spurred it to greater heights. He ravaged her mouth, his tongue leaving no centimeter unexplored. At the same time, his hands were flying down the buttons of her dress and pushing the offending garment out of his way. He cupped her breasts and kneaded them like bread dough on a board, the twin points of her nipples pressed into his palms like needles.

One part of his brain was telling him to settle down, that this was his best friend's birthday party and he hadn't even greeted said best friend yet. The other part, the stronger part, was screaming more...more...more...

Harry wanted to think that the rational mind would have retaken control of the situation, but before it could, Hermione had unfastened his trousers and slid her hand into his boxers. She stroked him to such painful pleasure that rationality was kicked out of the equation entirely.

One mighty rip turned Hermione lace panties into fodder for the rag bag. With a slowness he didn't feel, Harry used his fingers to gauge her readiness. She was nearly dripping with want of him. Harry groaned deeply and plunged himself inside her. Hermione bit into his neck to stifle the scream of ecstasy. Harry didn't even feel the bite. Instead, he tightened arms around her and lifted her feet from the ground. Hermione got the idea and wrapped her legs around his waist. Thrusting and parrying with near crazed enthusiasm, Harry finally reached his pinnacle and dragged his wife over the edge with him.

It took a few moments before either was able to speak, let alone move. Harry backed away from Hermione, righted his clothing and sank onto the bed, head in his hands. He couldn't believe what he'd just done. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"For what?" she asked a little breathlessly, crossing to kneel in front of him.

"For what?" he asked, astonished. "We just...I just...ravaged you."

"I noticed. Fun, wasn't it?"

"Fun?"

"Well, I thought so. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but it didn't seem like _you_ were faking it." She grinned at him and tugged his hands into hers.

As always, it was the grin that got him. He answered it in kind and stood, wrapping his arm around her waist and leading her back downstairs. If anyone at the party noticed their mega-watt grins, Harry's more-than-usually messy hair, or the fact that Harry was sporting a neck bite that would make a vampire envious, they didn't comment.

At least, no one did until Ron got a good look.

"Harry!" Ron clapped his best friend on the back, eyes widening as he saw the recent bruising over the collar of Harry's misbuttoned shirt. "It's my birthday," he commented, tongue firmly in his cheek, "but why do I get the impression you got the better present?"

"Day's not over yet, you tactless prat," Mariah said as she came up behind them, her kiss to his cheek taking all seriousness from her comment. "Glad you could make it, Harry," Mariah raised up on her toes to kiss Harry's cheek.

"So's Hermione," Ron quipped and was rewarded by both Hermione and Mariah swatting on his arms. "Seriously, though, Harry, glad you came."

Three sets of eyes trained on him as if daring him to continue **that** thought. Ron wisely kept any further comment to himself.

Feeling quite invigorated after his interlude with Hermione in the upstairs bedroom, Harry settled into the swing of the party. He greeted friends he hadn't seen in months and laughed with them over Ron's presents, many of which were gags. After another few hours, the guests began to say their goodbyes and Apparate home.

By the time they reached their flat, it was well past midnight and the fatigue was beginning to spread through Harry once again. With a sigh, Harry toed off the loafers, trudged to their bedroom and flopped on the mattress face down.

Harry didn't know how long he'd been lying there when he felt the mattress shift as Hermione joined him. The smell of her perfume, recently refreshed, reached his nostrils and caused its usual reaction. For the second time that night, he felt the blood race from his brain to settle in his lap.

"Poor love," Hermione crooned, obviously thinking he was asleep. Harry decided to let her continue in that mindset, just to see what she'd do.

It became an effort in self control as she slowly peeled the socks from his feet and then moved upwards, reached underneath his chest and unbuttoned his shirt. He kept his breathing even and steady as she eased the garment from his shoulders and discarded it to the floor. Harry was certain the deception would come to an end when she rolled him to his back and prepared to divest him of his trousers.

"Well, well, well," she giggled. "Not sleeping after all, eh?"

He said nothing, just concentrated all his efforts on breathing steadily and deeply, in and out, in and out.

"Hmmm," Hermione said thoughtfully, "guess that's the only part that's awake."

With careful movements, she unfastened his trousers and eased them down slim hips, his boxers getting dragged along with them. Harry heard the _flump_ as they joined the shirt. It was torture not opening his eyes to watch her, but he endured it; training his ears for any sound that would give an indication of her intentions.

It turned out that he didn't need to listen, only to feel. Her fingers brushed the hair from his forehead and then caressed his face softly. She then ran her fingers through the smattering of hair that covered his chest. Each motion, each touch, was exquisite agony. What made it even more pleasurable was that he couldn't reciprocate in kind.

Her hands traveled with excruciating laziness over his stomach, across his hips, and down his legs toward his feet. He was dying to ask her if she was taking inventory when he felt her lips on the top of his feet. A thousand sensations flooded him, and he tried to stifle his moan of pleasure.

Her lips continued to follow the same path her fingers had only backwards -- and slower, if that was possible. For what seemed an eternity, she rained kisses on his ankles, legs, knees and thighs. The higher she got, the more difficult breathing became. Hermione paused after a lengthy, feather light kiss to his hipbone. Harry nearly groaned in frustration as she moved in the other direction and began kissing her way up his arm.

It wasn't until her lips reached his ear that he remembered exactly how observant his wife was. "How much longer are you going to pretend to be asleep, Harry?"

His eyes sprang open and met the amused brown eyes, made almost black by the feeble moonlight coming through the window. "How did you know?"

"Harry," Hermione drew his name out as her hand snaked down towards the one part screaming for her touch. "Even when you have nightmares you don't groan that much. At least," she paused and her hand inched even nearer, "not this particular groan."

Said groan sprang from his throat and nearly rattled the pictures off the walls as she finally encircled him with her hand. Only a monumental force of will kept him from reaching release in that second.

"You're a bloody tease, you know that?"

"No, I'm not," Hermione responded primly, which was odd given the current location and occupation of her hand. "A tease has no intention of backing up her actions."

"And you do?" Harry panted as she picked up the pace.

She didn't answer orally, or at least, not with her voice anyway. In one liquid movement, she had enveloped him completely.

"Dear God, Hermione," Harry said through clenched teeth as her lips and tongue turned him into a quivering mass of nerve endings. It didn't take long for him to reach the breaking point, and he pulled her from him before he did. Flipping her to a prone position with very little effort, Harry took her hands in his and held them over her head to stop her wandering fingers.

"But..." she sputtered, sounding a little put out at being interrupted.

"But nothing, love," Harry stopped her protest by taking as much of her left breast into his mouth as he could and using lips and teeth to torture the already distended nipple. He shifted to cover her and paused at the entrance that so eagerly awaited him. Harry stayed that way for a few moments, cleverly avoiding the thrust of her hips as she tried to draw him in.

"Harry?" Hermione panted. "Please..."

"Please what?" Harry teased, once again merely touching her entrance with the tip of his erection.

"Please make love to me or I'll hex you into next week," she said, half grinning, half begging.

"Well, if you put it that way," Harry leaned forward to kiss her very gently on the lips. As his mouth increased its pressure, he buried himself inch by glorious inch in the velvet warmth that was Hermione. He stopped again when at last he was completely inside her.

"If you stop now, Harry Potter," Hermione moaned, no longer grinning at all, "I will have to kill you."

"Greedy little thing, aren't you?" Harry responded, still not moving.

"For you, always," she said, raising her hips as he pulled his own back.

"You're not sore from earlier, are you?" Harry asked, this thought suddenly occurring to him. He felt the ticklings of guilt at the base of his conscience.

In answer, Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her heels into him.

"Guess not," Harry grinned and put them both out of their misery. His hips rocked back and forth, slowly at first and then gaining momentum as his release neared. Letting go of the hands he still held, Harry traced a finger down Hermione's torso, over peak and valley, until he reached the core of her desire. He caressed the nub gently, then with greater pressure and drove them both to an orgasm that left them both quivering and gasping for air.

Neither bothered with their usual night clothes as moving from the bed would require more energy than either had available. Instead, they curled into each other like spoons in a drawer and drifted off to sleep. It was morning before either of them stopped smiling.


End file.
